


A New View

by Elfflame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Threesome - F/F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-25
Updated: 2005-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfflame/pseuds/Elfflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Millieweasley asked for Hermione/Fleur/Ginny, with the prompt "the burrow - much smut - preferably outside..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New View - Drabble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [millieweasley](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=millieweasley).



Ginny still didn't like Phl--Fleur, but she had to admit, the girl had accomplished the impossible. Second only to her crush on Harry, was her crush on Hermione. But that was something she would never have admitted without Fleur's help. She would have stuck to watching in the mirror while Hermione changed, instead of holding those gorgeous breasts in her hands, listening to her best friend gasp.

She also had to admit that Fleur did seem to know what she was doing, with her fingers nimbly working both her clit and Hermione's at the same time. Hermione's moans were so loud that had they not been alone at the Burrow that morning, she was sure Ron and Harry at least would have come running. But they'd gone off to play one-on-one Quidditch together.

Ginny'd been miffed, and had decided to take it out on Phle--Fleur, and had discovered her with Hermione. She'd never seen Hermione look quite like that before, her head thrown back, and that cascade of chestnut curls flowing down her back... She'd wanted to tear Fleur's lips from Hermione's neck until the woman had turned to her and grinned, indicating she should join them.

Yeah, maybe Fleur wasn't so bad after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An expanded version of the drabble I did for Millieweasley.

Ginny Weasley had only ever had two crushes in her life.

Harry Potter was the first. She’d grown up knowing who he was, and dreaming of the day he’d meet her and fall madly in love with her. And then Ron had met him—they all had, his first day of Hogwarts, trying to get to the Train. But Ron had become his Best Friend, and of course the Hero would fall in love with his Best Friend’s sister, right?

But she’d flubbed it. She’d turned tail and ran the moment she’d seen him when he’d come to visit next summer. And so, instead, she’d spent her first year at school mooning over someone who barely knew she existed. And talking to a stranger in an enchanted book, who turned out to be less than trustworthy.

And she’d watched both boys with Hermione Granger. She’d hated her at first. She spent far too much time in Harry’s company to make Ginny happy. What if she was in love with Harry, and just hadn’t said yet?

And Tom, acting the snake in her ear, suggested she watch the girl very carefully. It was the only thing he said that stayed with her after the ordeal in the Chamber was over. Because, though it had started as hatred, her horror at realizing what she’d done to one of her brother’s best friends, what she’d nearly done to Hermione Granger, had altered her feelings for the other girl. What had once been loathing had become something else. Something Ginny couldn’t quite identify at first.

In the beginning, She’d watched her all the time, just because she had to make sure that Hermione didn’t seem to have a crush on Harry. But then, her second year, she watched Hermione for her own sake. Despite the fact that she didn’t seem to be overly popular with the other girls, Hermione was friendly and open, and always willing to help out with a spot of homework. At least she was for Ginny.

It was the summer before third year, alone in their small tent at the Quidditch World Cup that Ginny realized what those feelings meant when she watched Hermione change from her jeans and top into her nightclothes. The tickle in her stomach that she often felt around Harry was more subtle with Hermione, but Ginny couldn’t deny that it was the same feeling. She’d hurried into the bathroom to change, sure that if Hermione had bothered to look right then, she would have known exactly what Ginny was feeling. And that just wouldn’t do. Because Hermione was going to marry Ron, and Ginny Harry—or so they’d plotted the night before, tucked away in Ginny’s room, and giggling like mad. But that wouldn’t happen if Ginny acted on her silly crush, now, would it?

She’d backed off a bit from Hermione that year. Of course, part of that was that Harry and Ron were acting like prats, particularly Ron, and Hermione had had to spend all her time trying to get them to make up.

The dance that year had been a fiasco. When Neville hadn’t been stepping on her toes, she’d been trying to avoid seeing how happy Hermione was with Krum, and how gorgeous Harry looked in his dress robes, or worse, how much he was mooning over Cho. When Michael had asked for a dance, she’d been unable to refuse.

He was a nice enough chap—at first, anyway. But he wasn’t Harry. And he sure as heck wasn’t Hermione. And the next year, when he started badmouthing Harry because of the DA meetings, and worse, because Ravenclaw lost so spectacularly to Gryffindor, she knew it was time to dump him. Dean was sweet, but he was horribly jealous, and knew from the start exactly how she felt about Harry, so that, too, was doomed to failure.

But there were a couple months in her fifth year when she thought that it might actually be going right. The moment Harry had kissed her, she’d known it was right. Oh, she’d always known it before, but now he knew it too, and they knew it together, and if her brother would stop being such a berk…

And then Dumbledore died.

And Harry, being the Noble Hero that he was, broke up with her, “For your protection.” And she went home to what she suspected was going to be the most miserable summer ever—helping Phlegm and Bill prepare for their wedding.

Oh, she supposed Phlegm was okay enough. She’d stood by Bill even after the attack, but that didn’t mean Ginny liked her airy ways or snooty manners. It was enough to make her ill. She’d escaped from Wedding Duties as often as possible without upsetting her mum, but it wasn’t easy.

Then Hermione and Harry had come for the wedding. It was still two weeks away, but Harry was seventeen now, and refused to stay with the Dursleys any more, and Hermione had to be wherever Ron and Harry were. The time Ginny didn’t spend hiding from Fleur or her mom was spent mooning over a Harry who was purposefully avoiding her, a Hermione who spent most of her time reading her way through stacks of books and talking to Harry and Ron, locked away in the twins’ old room, or, for a few blissful hours, actually spending time chatting with Hermione before bedtime. It wasn’t quite like the old days, though. She knew that once the wedding was over, Harry had plans to disappear—and Ron and Hermione would be going with him. It was almost too much to bear. So she treasured every second she had with all of them.

Then came the morning when, one by one, everyone disappeared off for different quarters during the day. Ginny’s mum headed off to Diagon Alley to procure the last few things they would need for the wedding, Ginny’s Dad and older brothers disappeared to work, and Harry and Ron went off for a last bout of Quidditch. It was almost perfect. Now, if Ginny could just get rid of Fleur, she and Hermione would have the whole house to themselves. For at least an hour, she was sure.

The problem was, Ginny realized after fifteen minutes of searching, she had to find Hermione first. Or Fleur, so she could get rid of her.

Hermione hadn’t been in her bedroom, though it had looked as though she’d been in and out recently, her bathing suit tossed casually across the camp bed they’d set out for Hermione’s use.

She’d checked the other bedrooms as well. Ron’s room was empty, though through the window, she could see the boys playing Quidditch off in the distance. Percy’s room was empty as well. It had been set up for Fleur’s use until the wedding was over—Molly had insisted. Bill and Charlie’s room, across the hall had been just as deserted, as had the twins’ old room where Harry was staying.

The living room, still stacked with the books Hermione had been searching through day after day was just as empty as the rest. Even the kitchen felt hollow and empty when she entered.

Ginny sighed. Only one place left to check, she decided, and headed out to make a circuit around the house.

It was halfway around the house, hidden behind the shed and lounging decadently under an old apple tree, that she found them.

But they weren’t just lounging, she discovered as she approached. She’d thought that Fleur had just been smoothing something from Hermione’s lap before she realized that her hand had been there far too long for that to be the case.

Hermione’s eyes were shut tight, and as Ginny stilled to a halt still almost a yard from them, she could see her head fall back, and Fleur’s lips descend to Hermione’s neck. She gasped, fully realizing what was going on, and completely unsure how she should react.

She should be horrified. Fleur was marrying Bill in only three days.

She should be annoyed. How dare she seduce Ron’s quasi-girlfriend. How dare she do that to Ginny’s best friend?

She should be disgusted. It was Fleur, for god’s sake. Why was Hermione allowing her to touch her that way?

Instead, all she could feel was a rush of heat she’d never felt before in her life.

When Fleur’s silver-blue eyes turned to her, she was lost. The crooked finger dragged her involuntarily towards them, as though there were a string attached to her that was tied to that finger.

She fell to her knees at Hermione’s side.

Hermione’s eyes opened, and Fleur was whispering something in her ear. When Fleur pulled away, Hermione sighed, “Ginny…” and held out her hand.

Ginny took it, and found herself pulled forward and down, and then—oh, god, those were Hermione’s lips. Hermione’s lips on hers, her tongue sliding into her mouth, and she tasted of cream and chocolate, and something that Ginny could only define as Hermione.

When she pulled away for a breath, Fleur was grinning at her. “She is good at that, no?”

“Yes,” Ginny breathed. “But…”

Fleur smiled. “Ah, Ginny, in love one must take what one wants. As did I with your brother. No one will just give it to you.” She pulled Ginny to her for a light kiss. “Now, take what you want,” Fleur whispered when she pulled away. “Take what she wants to give you.”

And Ginny did.


End file.
